What is it you want, Mary? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary. 

Learning that “happily ever after” is a choice, not an expected outcome.

I'm from strawberry shortcake.
I'm from sweet tea and homemade peach ice cream.
I'm from Southern Living recipes and casseroles.


I'm from acres of green and miles of long dirt roads.
I'm from cowgirl boots and horses,
lakeside barbeques and magnolia trees,
pink roses and hydrangea bushes.


I'm from loving my husband.
I'm from wondering if I've met him yet.
I'm from being terrified to admit my mistakes.
and feeling I have nothing to give him.


I'm from the John Piper quote, “the really wonderful moments in life are not those of self-realization, but of self-forgetfulness.”
I'm from never being selfless enough to know what self-forgetfulness is.


I'm from loneliness.
I'm from “My grace is sufficient.”
I'm from wondering if that's true.


I'm from Daddy,
his 6'5'' shadow, Levi bluejeans and servant's heart.
I'm from provision and protection.
I'm from being convinced I could never love any man more.


I'm from a beauty queen.
I'm from secretly wishing I was half as beautiful,
inside or out.


I'm from an open front door.


I'm from Annabelle.
I'm from her legalism and her love of people.
I'm from fighting over hairbrushes to singing Taylor Swift.
I'm from her forgiveness.


I'm from Daniel.
I'm from his humility.
I'm from envying his love of life.
I'm from wanting him to be proud of me,
and not feeling like I deserve it.


I'm from Nathan.
I'm from feeling like I love him more than he can imagine
but wishing I knew how to love him more.
I'm from screaming matches and Buford football games.
I'm from all his undeserved grace.


I'm from Joseph;
from adoring his quirkiness and his love of mechanics.
I'm from hating that he's grown up so fast,
and wishing I was there in high school.


I'm from feeling like a failure as a big sister.


I'm from an NFL giant.

I'm from "here she comes, Miss America!"

I'm from twirling and piggy back rides.

I'm from a wooden hospital chair and empty eyes.

I'm from being forgotten.

I'm from reading that grace does not depend on suffering to exist, 

but where there is suffering you will find grace in many facets and colors.

I'm from "Jesus loves me, this I know."

I'm from an insatiable imagination.
I'm from constant daydreaming.


I'm from wishing I lived a life of integrity.
I'm from a paralyzing fear of what that would look like.


I'm from thinking cursing is perfectly acceptable,
but stopping, because “it isn't lady like.”


I'm from wondering if I've ever done anything to be proud of.


I'm from a floral couch and an kind, oblivious counselor.
I'm from telling her what she wanted to hear,
and sugar-coated pity parties.


I'm from St. Augustine, CS Lewis and Dr. Seuss.
I'm from Johnny Cash, The Beatles and Taylor Swift.


I'm from a rope swing and daisies,
"bouquets of sharpened pencils" and notebook paper.


I'm from "oh to grace, what a debtor."

Sister, let me be your servant.